


Arya, Queen of the Wolves

by thequeenmeera



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, arya stark as QITN, it's going to kill me a lot more than it kills you, pls be nice to me, the reunion we all needed but never got, this fic is out for my blood
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-18
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-06-12 08:41:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15336102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequeenmeera/pseuds/thequeenmeera
Summary: Arya is reunited with her brother Robb before he arrives at the Twins to meet his doom, during that time he names her as his legal heir. After the Red Wedding Arya finds herself the queen of a lost kingdom, the lady of a burnt castle, the heir to ruins.





	1. Prologue/Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is essentially a prologue for a fic I'll get to work on eventually. I have to finish my WIP first and then I'll decide if I want to work on this or one of my other ideas first. I will get to this one eventually but I'd like to have the whole thing drafted before I start posting it since there's a lot of details to work out and it's going to be pretty hard for me to meet back up with the canon at the end. Maybe it'll take so long for me to get to that the Winds of Winter will be released first, which would probably make writing it easier.

The rains would not stop and every mile seemed an eternity; a miserable one, filled with mud and muck and gloom. There were wolves howling in the distance, the sound was a comfort to her. Arya’s only other comfort on the journey were that they were riding towards Robb’s camp. The Hound made for dismal company. They spoke little and there was no gentleness in him, sometimes she thought he must have lied to her and that they were really going back to King's Landing. She would look for the sun and the moss on the trees to reassure herself that they were riding North. They were. The journey was cold and damp, they had no coin so the only shelter they could get was from the trees which gave their shelter half-heartedly, if that.  


With every mile they rode Arya’s heart clenched tighter and she worried that Robb would not take her. It had been so long since she’d seen him. _Will he even recognize me?_ she wondered mournfully every day. Her hair had been shorn close to her head and hung in unwashed, jagged but short clumps. Her clothes were tattered and worn by now and she was dirty and the rain really didn’t help much with how badly she smelled.  
  


* * *

Catelyn heard noise coming through the camp. Just minutes earlier she’d thought it wasn’t possible to be more cold, wet, or miserable than she already was but now she could not even rest thanks to the commotion. She rose, wrapped herself tightly in a cloak and walked to Robb’s tent which stood at the center of it all. Robb was sitting on a chair inside, his face lit by a candle and talking to a sentry. He said something she could not hear and the sentry left hurrying off into the night. “Robb,” Catelyn said cautiously, “may I ask what’s happening here?”  


Robb gave her such a sad look it made Catelyn shiver harder. He rose and walked over to her, placing his hands on her shoulders, _When did he get so tall?_ she wondered as she looked up at him. “Mother,” he said quietly, “the sentry said that Sandor Clegane is without the camp, and that he has a ‘gift’ for me.”  


Catelyn felt her knees grow weak but Robb held her up. “It might not be what we think it is,” he said, though there was no hope in his voice.  


To Catelyn the only question was would it be Sansa’s head or Brienne’s that he brought them. She felt cold and weary. _I cannot look, not know. I have had enough of pain._ She was so tired of the pain that seemed to follow her as punishment for being alive. Catelyn sat in the chair Robb had abandoned and rested her head in her hands.  
  


* * *

When Robb saw the hulking figure coming through the tents, led by two sentries and surrounded by several more guards he was braced for the worst. Would it be Sansa’s head or that Brienne of Tarth’s? There was little chance it would be Ice that was being delivered, and Robb doubted Sandor Clegane would call something a gift if it was not a cruel one. Robb saw no sack in the man’s hands, but he did notice a smaller shadow beside the large man. There was a boy with Clegane. Robb could not make out the boy’s face, only that the boy was skinny as a stick, pale, and muddy. Rain clattered off of Clegane’s armor as the man came closer and stopped before him.  


They stood in silence, staring at one another for a long minute, finally Robb spoke, “Clegane,” he said, “Is your master ready to surrender?”  


The man laughed long and loudly in response, “I left that craven little shit when Stannis came to King’s Landing. No, you’re still a doomed man. But, I have a something for you,” he shoved the child further into the light.  


The boy was horribly skinny. His worn, tattered clothes hung off his body and his hair fell in dirty, wet clumps, and his face was long and shrunken and… it wasn’t a boy at all.  


“Robb,” Arya gasped, her lower lip trembling.  


“Arya,” he breathed, his heart nearly stopped. He looked back at Clegane, “Give her here.”  


The big man shook his head, “No. First you’ll pay.”  


“People don’t pay for gifts.”  


“Mayhaps I lied about that part,” he shrugged, “this is a ransom. Three hundred gold dragons for your little sister _or_ I’ll snap her neck.” He squeezed the back of Arya’s neck hard, she looked frightened enough.  


“You dare threaten my sister like this?”  


“I dare. I’ve got nothing else. You can give me the gold and have your sister, or you can keep it and have her corpse.”  


Robb sucked in his breath and straightened himself, he could see his men moving closer to Clegane, “Or we could kill you first.”  


“But would you want to take that chance?” he replied, pulling Arya closer, he squeezed her neck so hard she let out a whimper.  


Robb looked closely at his sister for a few moments then turned to one of his men, “Get the gold,” he commanded.  


They waited for several long minutes for the sack of gold to be brought back to them. Clegane insisted that Robb prove it was real gold, and that he count it out piece by piece and hand it over before he’d release Arya. Finally the gold was counted and placed in the sack which was handed to the man.  


Once the gold was in hand Clegane shoved Arya at Robb. She leapt into his arms, weeping. Robb wrapped his arms tight around her and lifted her off the ground, burying his face in her shoulder to hide his own tears. “I thought you were dead,” he choked out.  


“I nearly was,” she cried, her shoulders were shaking violently.  


When Robb finally set Arya back on her feet he noticed the cloaked figure standing off to the side.  


* * *

Her mother had grown older, Arya saw gray hairs that had appeared over the months they’d been apart. She looked cautious, apprehensive, she stood to the side and stared at Arya instead of coming forward, her hand clutching at her chest, over her heart. Arya felt her own heart sink into her toes, _Of course she didn’t want me, she wanted Sansa instead_ she thought miserably. Robb placed a hand on Arya’s back and pushed slightly. Arya stumbled forward a step and the dam broke. Her mother cried out and grabbed Arya, pulling her into an embrace so tight Arya could scarcely breathe.  


“Arya,” her mother’s voice was hoarse, “oh, Arya. I thought I might never see you again.” She finally let Arya go and examined her face, brushing the hair away, her fingers were rougher than they had been.  


“Mother, is there something wrong with your hands?” Arya asked suddenly, and bit her lip.  


Her mother nodded, “It’s only an old wound.”  


Arya was swept into the large tent that she guessed was Robb’s while someone found food for her, she would have to wait to get a bath or new clothes. But for a moment it was just her and Robb and their mother, sharing bread quietly while firelight flickered on the walls of the tent and rain pattered overhead and it was almost pleasant, almost like being home.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to check out my tumblr, [theladymeera](http://theladymeera.tumblr.com). You can get to know me too well, keep up with all my other WIPs, drown in my hyperactive posting, etc. It's also the place to go if you want updates on my writing progress as the next time I'll post here will be when I start posting the actual work.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robb and his armies reach the Twins, Arya thinks back on an earlier momentous event, Robb has a talk with his little sister

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I know it's been a while but I've been busy for the last several months and while I didn't promise to have this chapter up until sometime this month I did expect to have the whole fic drafted before the new year. That didn't happen. I am aware that these chapters aren't and won't be as polished as I want them to be, I keep forgetting bits of plot that I'd planned as I'm writing and I can't capture the formal/archaic language when I write like this but the only thing worse than my current posting schedule is all of us having to wait around while I work on the draft at a snail's pace. Anyway, I hate to have to update sporadically but that's the way this is going to get done. My optimistic posting schedule will be about one chapter per week but I may need more time for writing since I'm going to have my hands full with classes and work. I'll do my best to keep up but I won't promise anything!

Arya’s bedchamber at the Twins was below Robb’s in the middle tower, the river rushing below. She hated it. She hated the ugly grey walls, she hated the sound of the current echoing from below, she hated the ugly blue and grey wall hangings, the stiff mattress, the stupid gray-blue blankets, and the awful hearth that had the image of the twin castles on either edge – the mantle itself was made to look like the bridge below. She hated that when she left the room there would only be Freys without.

She wished with all her heart that she could run up the stairs to see Bran, who would still be asleep, and play with baby Rickon and their wolves in the yard. She wanted to run and find Jon wherever he was sulking and he’d tell her she didn’t have to stay there and marry some weasely Frey. But Bran and Rickon were dead, Winterfell was sacked and burned, and Jon was at the wall. Arya bit her lip hard _Wolves don’t cry_ she reminded herself.

She was allowed to leave the room if she wished, so long as she stayed within the bounds of the Twins but she did not want to see any more of the castles. She especially did not want to be thrown in with Lord Frey’s hundred daughters and granddaughters. So Arya sat by the window to brood, gazing north towards home with the river rushing towards the Trident below. She could see the edge of the marshlands that made up the Neck from her window. _If I was a salmon I could swim to Greywater Watch from here, it would not take so long to get there._

It had been only the night after Arya had been sold to Robb when he’d told her his plan. She’d been having supper with her mother when Robb had come into their tent. “Mother,” he’d said and their mother had clearly known what he was going to say, Arya saw the apprehension written on her face. “I believe you remember our discussion at Oldstones?” their mother nodded curtly but did not speak. “I also assume that you remember my plans for your safety?” Another nod. Robb sighed, “I do not expect you or you Arya to be happy about this but it is for the best.”

“What’s for the best Robb?” Arya asked, her mouth still half full of bread.

He sat on the bench across from them. “After our uncle is wed mother will go to Seaguard with Lord Mallister. And you, Arya, you will remain at the Twins.”

“What?” Their mother jerked her head up in shock. “Why can she not go to Seaguard with me?”

“Because it is safer this way.”

“Robb –”

“There is another reason.”

“Please tell me you did not.”

“May I speak?” Robb looked at Arya. She gripped her spoon and stared at the table rather than at her brother’s face. “I have decided that Arya will be betrothed to one of Lord Frey’s sons or grandsons as a way to further solidify our alliance with him.”

“That does not require Arya to remain at the Twins Robb,” her mother did not even argue against Arya’s betrothal. She remembered Elmar Frey, Lord Bolton’s squire. I’m his stupid princess she realized with anger.

“I do not want to marry stupid Elmar Frey” Arya said and ripped another hunk off the loaf of bread.

Robb’s face was stone, “I should not have to explain to you that we do not always get to choose who we marry little sister. Even if none of this had ever happened father would have chosen a husband for you and there’s as good a chance you would have been angry about that too. And we do not know which son Lord Frey will pick for your husband. It may be Elmar still or it may be another.”

“Robb” their mother implored, “Let Arya come to Seaguard with me.”

He shook his head, “if I let her leave with you the Freys may take it as an insult. Arya is too young to marry but by leaving her at the Twins Lord Frey will be assured that the betrothal will remain in place.”

“I am no fool Robb but I do not wish to be parted from my last child. If we must assure the Freys of our faithfulness then let him send men with us. Or let me remain at the Twins with Arya.”

“That is not safe!” he slammed his fist on the table making Arya jump. “This is why I left Jeyne at Riverrun. If I leave you all together that will only make it easier for the Lannisters to capture you.”

Arya had hardly spoken to Robb since that night. She had rarely seen him as he was busy being a king. Only a few minutes after telling Arya and their mother his plans for their safety they had been joined by a select group of lords. Their uncle Edmure, Lady Mormont, Lord Glover, Lord Mallister, and the Greatjon. They discussed Robb’s battle plans, how Lady Mormont and Lord Glover were to sail from Seaguard to Greywater all to allow Robb to sneak around Moat Cailin and take it back from the Ironborn.

Arya was barely listening when Robb changed the subject and one of his men handed him a sheet of parchment. “We have one last matter to attend to mother, sister.” He swallowed and took a moment to comport himself before continuing. “The North needs an heir. The queen has not yet conceived, perhaps she has but I do not think so, and if that is indeed the case I must have someone prepared to take the crown should I fall in the coming battles.” He looked down at the table, “With Bran and Rickon… dead Sansa is the natural heir. But she is married to the Imp and any claim she has will be the claim of the Lannisters. They can _never_ have the North. I will not allow it.” He paused for a moment and his face returned to stone “Sansa must be removed from the line of succession. Which leaves Arya. Arya is my heir by blood and law.” He set the parchment on the table before Arya and their mother.

A knock at the door shook Arya out of her reverie. “Come in,” she shouted.

She was surprised that it was Robb who entered. She had expected her mother or a Frey. He came to look out the window where Arya was curled up on the sill. “This is a fine view,” he said.

“It is not” she grumbled.

Robb looked down at her, “I am sorry for this little sister. Truly.”

“You will not allow me to leave though.”

“No.”

“At least you are honest.”

A funny look crossed his face, “I try to be.” Robb went to sit on the edge of Arya’s bed, the way their father had when he’d chastised her for fighting with Sansa in King’s Landing. It made Arya’s heart ache to think of their father. Robb did not look much like him though he was nearly as tall as their father had been and he had the same solemn and stony expressions. “I do not want to leave you here but you should be safe, or as safe as you can be. And as for marriage –”

“I do not want –”

“I _know_ you do not want to. You were already betrothed to Elmar Frey and the betrothal was broken by my dishonor. I want to tell you that you are still a long way off from being old enough to wed and that many things can happen in that time. Perhaps we’d find a more powerful family to ally ourselves with that you could marry into. But that would be wrong for me to do. I cannot allow this betrothal to be broken. Perhaps you will grow to like your husband-to-be. Or mayhap Lord Frey will allow you to marry a different son. I think you might like Olyvar, he’s a good lad.”

Arya pressed her cheek to the cool window and bit her lip, “You are leaving me in a prison Robb.”

He sighed and got to his feet, “Better to be imprisoned than dead little sister.”

She scoffed, “I want to go home.”

“So do I. I’m going to free the North from the Ironborn, it should not take me very long. Their numbers are few and they have never been able to hold anything they take on land for long. And when I’ve made Winterfell safe again mayhap I will be able to send for you.”

Arya looked over at him, “For true?”

“For true,” he smiled “Lord Frey will have to let you visit if his king commands it.”

She knew he was only trying to cheer her, but it was good to see a glimpse of the boy who once played come into my castle in the crypts with her. “May the gods lend strength to your arm then” she said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any thoughts?


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You know what this is. You signed up for this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I regret nothing.

The wine was poured freely and Arya felt like a giant was ramming her in the head from the echoing drums. She had always felt awkward dancing and while she had grown more graceful through practicing her water dancing she had not practiced the gentler dances of the South. She had a headache and felt too warm from the wine. It was much stronger than what Arya had been allowed in Winterfell. And the heavy, ugly, itchy, grey and blue woolen dress and ill-fitting shoes made dancing harder. The gaze of all the strangers in the hall made Arya more nervous so she looked at her feet. “Are you alright?” Robb asked when her fumbling resulted in him stepping on her foot.

She kept her head down and said “No.”

“Do you remember when we had to practice dancing?”

Arya did. Since there were four boys and only two girls Septa Mordane and their mother had allowed the two oldest Poole girls or Beth Cassel to join the lessons depending on what other duties the girls had. Arya had usually been paired with Jon, switching to Bran whenever they were told to switch. Jon was a better dancer than Robb just as he was the better sword. Bran had always been shorter than Arya, always would be now that he was dead. Arya tried not to think on it. “I remember.”

Robb was trying to be kind but Arya had yet to find room in her heart to forgive him. He had not even left yet and she already felt alone. _I may as well be without a mother and brother entirely if I never see them_ she thought bitterly before Robb returned her to her seat. The cry to send her uncle and his bride to their wedding bed was being taken up. Arya looked down at her plate and picked at the food before her, she wished she could have been sent to bed hours before rather than spend the evening stuffed in the Frey’s feast hall with their awful food and weasley faces leering around at her. She had been told that the Freys were their allies again but Arya had seen something dark in Black Walder’s eyes from the moment they’d arrived. There was something darker in Lame Lothar and their wizened father. And Robb was going to leave her with them. The ladies were not as bad as their fathers, uncles, and brothers but Arya still hated them all. Even pretty Roslin who was to be her aunt though she had done nothing to upset Arya. She could almost hear Septa Mordane and her mother chiding her for being so ungracious. The tie of her head-covering itched at her chin and she nearly took it off, but the few Freys she had met that morning had laughed at how she was near-bald now.

She ought to forgive Robb and speak with her mother more since she was going away, and perhaps try to befriend some of the ladies of Frey. She should try to be good to them as she’d tried to be good to Sansa. True they’d always fought but these girls were not her sister, they might even come to like her. But the gathered crowd was converging to take the man and his wife to their beds and Arya did not intend to be caught up in the crowd and Robb would go with them she was sure. She could rise early and try to speak to him before he rode off towards Moat Cailin and her mother might not leave for a few days yet.

Roslin cried when the Greatjon slung her over his shoulder and carried her carried her out of the hall. Arya had seen few weddings in her ten years of life, she turned to ask her mother but the look on her mother’s face silenced the question before it left her lips. Her mother was clutching the edge of the table, she was watching Robb who was still standing in the hall. Dacey Mormont had approached one of the men and Arya could not hear what the lady asked but that the man had loudly told her “No.”

Arya got up to speak with Robb. “Do many maids cry at their bedding?” she wanted to ask him, and “Why do all these Freys look like weasels?” she hoped that might make him laugh though it might make him angry. “Robb,” she said when she reached him, tugging on his sleeve.

The players in the gallery changed their tune just then from the jaunty song about a king and queen undressing to make love to “The Rains of Castamere.” Robb’s face was pulled down into a frown. Arya saw the flash of their mother’s red hair out the corner of her eye and saw their mother racing after one of the Frey men towards the door. She grabbed the man’s sleeve and Arya saw the glint of steel on his arm. Their mother slapped the man and he shoved her. Robb and Arya moved as one to go to her but Arya heard Robb cry out in pain and screamed herself when a pain erupted in her shoulder. They both slammed into the thin rushes over the stone floor and Robb’s voice was hoarse when he said “You play dead” into her ear. Arya stilled and closed her eyes, she felt Robb rise next to her.

There was so much noise in the hall. Someone was still pounding on their drums and the hall was filled with the sound of wood hitting stone, perhaps those were tables being turned over. There were shouts and screams. Arya was sure she heard her mother scream though perhaps it was Dacey. She could hear Grey Wind howling somewhere outside, the sound was faint but it was there. She wanted to get up, perhaps to kill old Lord Frey, whoever had chosen to turn the wedding into a slaughter. It was as noisy as a battle, and it smelled like one over the lingering scent of roast lamb.

Arya had been lying still for so long though perhaps it had only been a few minutes, she did not know, when quiet took the hall again. Quiet with the exception of the drum. _Boom doom boom doom_ it sounded. She heard a frail cough “Heh,” the old Frey was cackling. Arya wished she could leap up and strangle him herself only her shoulder hurt and Robb had told her to play dead. Robb was the king and the lord of Winterfell, she had to obey him as she had once had to obey their father. “The King in the North arises. Seems we killed some of your men, Your Grace. Oh, but I’ll make you an _apology_ , that will mend them all again, heh.”

Where was Robb? He was standing now, Arya opened her eyes a hair, just enough to see through her lashes. She saw a mess of overturned tables and benches, spilled food, and fallen bodies. She did not see Robb.

“Lord Walder!” That was her mother’s voice! “LORD WALDER!” The drum was pounding, the sound her shoulder might make if the ache in it could sound. “Enough. _Enough_ , I say. You have repaid betrayal with betrayal, let it end.” _Boom doom boom doom boom doom_ the drums pounded and Arya’s shoulder ached and her heart pounded. She wanted to twitch her leg, _anything_ to move but she stayed dead. Fear wrapped its icy fingers round her heart, keeping her legs still. “He is my son. My first son, and my last.” Arya felt the tears freeze before she could think to cry. “Let him go. Let him go and I swear we will forget this… forget all you’ve done here. I swear it by the old gods and new, we… we will take no vengeance…” Would they?

“Only a fool would believe such blather, D’you take me for a fool, my lady?” the old man croaked.

“I take you for a father. Keep me for a hostage, my daughter too.”

 _No_ , Arya thought, the fear clenching harder on her heart, creeping down to her belly and her toes.

“Edmure as well if you haven’t killed him. But let Robb go.”

“Your daughter is dead, heh. She lies in her own blood behind you” The old man laughed.

Her mother’s voice grew more desperate, “Please Robb, go now! I cannot lose another child.”

“No,” Robb’s whisper was faint but Arya was just able to hear it over her the rushing in her ears and the _boom doom_ of the drum. “Mother, no…”

“Yes. Robb, get up. Get up and walk out, please, _please_. Save yourself… if not for me, for Jeyne.”

“Jeyne? Mother, Grey Wind…”

“Go to him. Now. Robb, _walk out of here_.”

Arya heard the old rat snort “And why would I let him do that?”

“On my honor as a Tully, on my honor as a Stark, I will trade your boy’s life for Robb’s. A Son for a son.”

“A son for a son, heh,” the rat repeated. “But that’s a grandson… and he never was much use.”

Arya’s gut clenched in the fist of fear. _No, no, no_ she thought. Grey Wind was howling. A wolf howling in the rain, with no one to hear his grief. _Drums and horns and pipes and screams but the saddest sound was the little bells._

“Jaime Lannister sends his regards” a soft voice said. The Leech Lord. Arya just heard the whisper of his voice and the whisper of steel in flesh and fear froze her in place.

She heard the faint tinkling of bells somewhere to her left, towards where her mother’s voice had been. The saddest sound was the little bells. Her mother screamed in anguish. She screamed and screamed and Arya could not move. “Mad,” someone said, “she’s lost her wits,” said another. “Make an end,” someone else said.

Arya heard men moving about the room. Later, she was not sure how much later, she heard a crowd of feet pounding into the feast hall. They were shouting, laughing, and they stank like blood and wine. There were screams and drums and laughter all about around her and in the distance Grey Wind howled no more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I'll be back next week.  
> 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah I'm a liar I didn't get this finished by last weekend. I have excuses but it doesn't really matter. I ended up having to split this chapter up because it was getting very long and I'm exhausted.

It had been silent in the hall for some time when Arya finally gained the will to get up. Faint light came through the high windows. Morning, the horrible morning, had come at last. Arya’s left shoulder was a mass of pulsing pain and her right arm nearly failed in pushing herself up. She felt so weak and her left was useless. She stood unsteadily and for a moment wished that she had been blinded but she did not look away nor close her eyes as much as she might wish to. The feast hall was in disarray, the rushes were stained dark with blood, and the dead littered the floor.

Her eyes glazed over men she did not recognize lying on or over the broken and overturned tables and benches, their pale corpses decorated with food. She put one unsteady foot in front of the other and walked toward the dais, skirting around fallen benches and an overturned table. The flash of auburn hair on the bloody rushes ahead and to her left caught her eye and she rushed forward, stumbling to her knees beside her mother. Her mother’s face was hidden with hair and her shoulders did not move with quiet breath. Arya pulled the cold shoulder towards her knees and nearly recoiled in shock. There were long dark lines in her mother’s cheeks, colored black with dried blood. It looked as if some creature had shredded her mother's face. Her deep blue eyes were open as was her ragged mouth. Her head flopped back unnaturally, the white of bone was visible in the deep gash on her throat, like a dark smile. The front of her once blue dress was dyed a purpley-black with spilled blood. “Mother,” Arya murmured knowing the body beside her could see and hear no more. Trembling, Arya reached down and closed the empty eyes.

Arya remembered Thoros of Myr then, the night of the Hound’s trial. He had raised Ser Berric from the dead. _He said he couldn’t raise a man without a head, but mother still has her head_ she thought. If only she could find him…

The sound of footfalls on stone rang from the doorway behind the dais. There was a bloody dagger nearby and Arya grabbed it before she tumbled and fell behind one of the overturned tables, leaning against a corpse out of sight. The footsteps were muffled when they reached the rushes and Arya worked to steady her breathing. It was hard, she felt weak and dizzy and all she wanted was to lie down and sleep. She leaned against the fallen bench and closed her eyes, the dagger held firm in the folds of her dress.

Whoever it was moved slowly through the room. She heard a few soft thumps, the jingle of coins or bells, a crash like a goblet hitting a stone floor. Whoever it was came closer until she could feel hot breath on her cheek. “No pockets on this one I ‘spect” the voice was a boy’s, just beginning to deepen and crack. “Jus’ as well to check,” and Arya had only a moment to prepare before the hand was on her collar and she dove forward and up with her dagger. It caught and stuck in the boy’s cheek. She dragged it from the middle towards his mouth while he screamed and grabbed at her. One of his hands jerked her left arm forward, she screamed in pain and quickly pulled the dagger back to strike again at his neck. Blood gurgled from the wound and he slumped forward, landing on the overturned bench, dead.

Arya pushed herself up on shaky legs. Something tickled and itched as it crawled down her back like a bee or beads of sweat. _I need to go_ , she knew. But she could not leave dressed as she was, and with her arm hurt. Looking down at the dead boy she got an idea.

Changing her clothing had been hard. Every movement of her left arm brought agonizing pain, driving into her shoulder but she grit her teeth and moved it. The boy was much larger than she and heavy and with her left arm hurt tugging his clothes off had been hard. His tunic was blood-soaked in front, his breeches a foot too long for her legs but she pulled them on, rolled up the ends, and belted the breeches with a strip off her dress. She had to cut the dress off, leaving a few scratches on her belly. It was hardest getting the top off of her back as something seemed to be sticking out from her shoulder. This also caused a problem when she forced the bloody tunic over her head, it would not fall right. Something certainly was protruding from her left shoulder and she could not turn to see it, would not let herself try. At least ripping the covering from her head was easy.

Arya shoved the dagger into her makeshift belt and walked out of the feast hall, back toward the yard she had walked through the day before. She ran into an armored man near as soon as she stepped outside. “Watch where you're going boy!” the big man snapped.

“Maester,” she croaked back at him, keeping her eyes low.

“That way,” the man said gruffly and pointed her towards the Maester’s turret. She muttered a thanks and headed in that direction. If she just kept her head down mayhap no one would notice she was a girl or that she was Arya Stark.

There was a line in the stairway to the Maester’s rooms. There were men with missing hands and poorly bandaged heads. Blood had been dripped all over the stairs. Arya waited her turn for more than an hour, swaying on her feet and leaning against the wall on her good shoulder when she could. No one seemed to take notice of the bloody little boy.

When she reached the Maester he tutted at her and helped her remove the tunic. “What were you doing in the fray boy?” He asked her while he rummaged among shelves of potions, poisons, and tinctures.

“I don’t know m’lord,” she said. Speaking grew harder each time she needed the use of her tongue.

He harrumphed and shortly presented her with a cup. “I’m running short on milk of the poppy at the moment but this should do” he said and turned his back again, gathering up tools that Arya couldn’t see. The contents looked like wine or some red juice, though it seemed to be milky as well. She drank the contents without question. A stupid decision she realized too late. Already her eyes were drooping and the Maester caught her before she could fall forward. He helped her turn and lie face-down on the table, moving her arms to odd angles. “Won’t take long,” she thought she heard him say before the blackness enveloped her.

Weak sunlight pierced her closed eyes and she whined, squeezing them tight, trying to block it out. She had not lay there long before someone proffered her with hard bread and bad beer. She went back to sleep until her dreams woke her. Mother’s face with red tears down her cheeks… The sunlight was weak outside and Arya could hear the pattering of rain on the roof. She swallowed the bile that had risen in her throat and forced herself to sit up. There were fresh clothes at the foot of the pallet she’d been lying on and she was surrounded by strange men, all asleep and wounded.

Arya pulled the new tunic over her head and tucked the breeches and smallclothes into her belt. She still looked like a village boy wearing bloody clothes that were much too large. Her dagger was still hidden in the folds of her belt, the blood had all dried to it and she doubted it would be much use if left alone longer but a rusty knife was better than nothing she supposed.

She stepped lightly around the men though if any of them were awake she doubted they’d make a fuss at her leaving. The door creaked when she opened it and she hurried down the stairs, following the sound of moving feet and loud voices.

The yard was full of men and women, all busy doing one thing or another. Arya squeezed past a pair of guards beside a doorway and ducked into the doorway next to them. “Damnable thing t’ do,” one was saying darkly.

“Best not let one of t’ lords hear that Muddy. ‘Sides, do y’ want them Lannisters in our lands? Murdering, raping, burning. They’ve done ‘at ev’rywhere else from Riverrun South.”

“‘Course I don’ want ‘em here but there’s still guest rights –”

The other man turned on the speaker, “I warned ye, if you don’ shut your damned mouth yer like to lose yer head” he spat at his fellow’s feet and they both quieted.

 Arya tried to focus on the yard in front of them. She needed to get out and on the right side of the river. Only, which side was the right side anyway? Her mother was dead, Robb probably was as well. Winterfell was burned, Bran and Rickon with it. Sansa was in King’s Landing. _Mayhap I’ll rescue her?_ Arya considered it for a moment but how was she to do that? The Red Keep was a big castle in a huge city and she was only a little girl. _Besides, Sansa might be dead already and I just don’t know it_. She knew her great uncle the Blackfish was at Riverrun, but she’d never met him anyway. Her uncle Edmure would be there at the Twins _But they probably killed him too_. Her mother’s sister was far away in the Eyrie.

Jon though, she knew where he was. She could not go home but Castle Black was not so much farther especially if Jon was there. Arya’s heart ached with longing to see him again, to have him smile at her. She would go to the Wall, to Jon. Jon would take her in, he would protect her. She could almost picture his smile when he saw her.

A group of soldiers marched across the scene, disrupting Arya’s thoughts. Just dreaming about running to Jon would not get her there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pls be nice to me...


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya makes and changes plans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is going to be some gore in this chapter. It's not in-detail but if death, corpses, burial, and the like makes you uncomfortable this is your warning.

The Twins were not large castles but Arya did not know her way through them and they were filled with soldiers. She wandered through courtyards and corridors, up and down stairs, trying to find her way out. She knew that just walking out of the castles may prove to be more dangerous than staying within them. From what few snippets of conversation she was able to catch a good many of Robb’s men had escaped and there were soldiers out looking for them. Arya might run into some of those men and they may not be kind. She had learned that lesson all too well in her time in the Riverlands. She also needed food and a horse if she could steal one.

Arya had filched a little food from a kitchen she’d stumbled into near an hour before and was preparing to cross the bridge between the castles. She had to wait because there were men in the pink cloaks of House Bolton riding across just then. Lord Bolton himself emerged from a doorway across the yard from where Arya was standing idle, trying to appear as if she was only a serving boy. She froze and worked to keep her face straight. Her hair had been shorn and her clothes were different. The Leech Lord may not recognize her. _He killed Robb_ , she thought with revulsion twisting her stomach. When next she said her prayers the Leech Lord’s name would be the first on her list.

Lord Bolton did not see her standing by the gate, or if he did he did not recognize her as Arya or Nan. Someone else noticed her though. Elmar Frey was looking smug and snug in his clean and fine clothes, standing just behind the Leech Lord. While the men were distracted by talking Elmar crossed the yard to where Arya was standing. “You cut your hair short Nan,” he even sounded smug.

“I had lice,” she said curtly.

There was a smirk growing on his face, “You killed one of Lord Bolton’s men when you fled Harrenhal.”

She didn’t need him to remind her how dangerous her situation had grown. “What makes you think it was me?”

He shrugged, “Well it wasn’t the kitchen boy.”

“Why not? Kitchen boys are good with knives.”

“In any case one word from me and you’ll be hanging from the walls. Mayhap my brother will be kind enough to give you a faster death.”

Arya had had enough of Elmar’s games, her life was in enough danger as it was. “Elmar,” she said cautiously, “what can I do to keep you quiet?”

He looked genuinely surprised by her offer, “What – what can you do?”

“Yes, what can I do for you Elmar? Do you have chores that need to be done?” She bit her lip, he ought to have chores and Elmar was always loathe to do them.

“I do, are you offering to do them for me?”

“In exchange for your silence about seeing me, yes.” She noticed the crest sewn into the breast of his doublet and got an idea. He seemed to be debating her offer which gave her a moment to think before she proposed her plan. “What if you gave me a set of your clothes so people would think you were doing your chores?”

He furrowed his brow, “How would that help?”

She had to go about this carefully, “Well, I’m not supposed to be here am I? If people see some random serving boy they might get suspicious as to your whereabouts. If they think I’m you you can do whatever you want without anyone being the wiser.”

He seemed to think about her plan for a few moments before he said yes and he led her to the laundry, where they dug out some spare clothes with Elmar’s family crest – all the Freys had different crests to honor their different branches. Arya thanked him and went off in the direction he pointed to start his chores, changing quickly on her way. She had no intention of doing Elmar’s chores for him.

It was while she was crossing the bridge that her plans changed again. The Freys may have been slow to remove the bodies from the feast halls but they had wasted no time in putting Robb’s body on display. Arya did not have a clear view from her position on the bridge but she’d heard enough awful japes about what they’d done to her brother to know that it was his body hanging over the river.

Sickness roiled in her tummy at the sight. She hadn’t been strong enough to carry her mother from the hall and she did not know if her mother would still be there if she went back but she _could_ do something about Robb. She had to.

Men were easy to fool. Even easier since she had borrowed Elmar’s clothing and there were so many Freys not even other Freys could be sure she was not one of them if they saw her. She’d managed to command four men to remove Robb’s body from the battlements, find his head and Grey Wind’s body, load them into a cart and cover them with bloody blankets and vegetables. She’d convinced them they were acting under Lord Frey’s command – of course she hadn’t specified which Lord Frey – but it was best not to provoke any of the thousands of soldiers milling about.

It took hours to find a proper burial place. First they’d had to ride northeast of the castle, away from all the men and hopefully away from most wandering soldiers. They had had to find a spot that was clear enough and not blocked by tree roots or boulders. Arya helped the men dig and made them line the rather shallow grave with stones and sticks and blankets. She needed his body preserved. She would come back for Robb one day. As soon as it was safe. She did not know when that might be though so she chewed her lip and kept collecting rocks.

The rains were lighter that afternoon but Arya and the Frey men were soaked to their skins by the time the grave was finished. The sun was sinking below the dark clouds and had turned them a ghastly red. Red like blood or flames or rage. Arya prepared Robb for burial while the men finished lining the grave. She cut the cords that held Grey Wind’s head to Robb’s neck and, rolling it aside, gingerly picked up her brother’s head. Using the wire and the thick needle that had been provided she sewed Robb’s head back onto his body. She had never been good at sewing but this was easier than embroidery or trying to make small seams. _I should join the Silent Sisters_ Arya thought grimly when she gazed down on her handiwork. She performed the same service for Grey Wind, Robb’s companion and tried not to think of Nymeria. Her wolf was probably a skin hanging in some lord’s hall or had been turned into a cloak by now. There was not time to dwell on the subject though as the men were finished with the grave and Arya was required to help them bury her brother.

Arya had not buried anyone before. Her father’s had been the first death she could remember. While he and her mother had brought her and the other children to pay their respects the few times someone at Winterfell died Arya had never paid the ceremonies enough attention to know what to do now. And she could not risk letting the men around her know that they were burying her brother. She was supposed to be dead after all.

When the bodies had been lowered, covered with blankets, rocks, dirt, Arya set about trying to scratch some symbol into a large rock – marking the place for her to find when she came back. It was growing dark and the men began to grumble about being hungry and not wanting to be out of the castle walls when there were so many outlaws about. “I’m nearly finished,” Arya snapped at the man who dared ask her when they were to return to the castles.

“There’s something evil in these woods,” one of the other men said darkly.

Arya stifled a groan but once it was mentioned she noticed that there was something wrong. The rain was still dripping but she heard other sounds. The cracking of sticks and the crunch of leaves underfoot. “I’m finished,” Arya pronounced, jumping off the edge of the cart where she’d been resting and laying the large stone at the head of the grave. “Let us be off.”

The Frey men were all too happy to comply with this final command. They all rushed onto the cart and the driver snapped his whip but they had hardly started back on the path before the horse shied from the nearest tree. The driver shouted and cracked his whip again but the horse was already beyond reason. The rest of them gripped their weapons close, preparing for whoever might step from the shadows. “Help me with him!” the driver shouted at the other men and one of them bravely leapt off the cart to hold the horse’s reins from the front so he couldn’t run off with the cart in tow.

Arya heard the low rumble in the undergrowth and she began to understand. It wasn’t outlaws or wounded Northmen the horse was afraid of. The horse’s screams filled Arya’s ears when she saw the first wolf step out of the trees.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah I know it's been forever, the semester has been busy and I had to decide where I wanted to go with this story since there were about eight places I could go with it and one option looked particularly juicy for a while but it would have been completely different and I'll use that idea for a different fic altogether. I wanted this chapter to be longer but I ran out of juice and have some time limits today, maybe the next chapter will be longer.

The first wolf leapt at the horse and that was that. Arya was too frightened to cry out as the men with her did. She leapt down from the cart. It was jerking and bumping over roots. The horse screamed one last time just as the largest wolf latched onto its throat, tearing out a glistening chunk of meat and bone. Arya hit the ground on her wounded shoulder; she rolled back to her feet and glanced around, clutching her throbbing shoulder with one hand. The woods were filled with wolves, with their snarling and howling and flashes of teeth amongst the fur.

“My lord!” one of the men shouted as he grabbed Arya around the middle and dragged her away from a leaping wolf. Slobber flicked against Arya’s face as the wolf landed where she had been a breath before.

Arya and the man who had grabbed her plunged into the woods side by side. There had been a time when Arya had thought herself a wolf. A direwolf. But the direwolves were dead and gone now. Or if there were any left she did not know where they were. Now she fled from the wolves, stumbling over rocks and roots until the rain drowned the howls behind them.

They were not followed so far as Arya could tell and it was full dark when she and the remaining guardsman stopped running, both too tired to continue. They took shelter beneath a great tree which kept a little of the rain off them. “You didn’t chance to bring any food with you m’lord?” the guardsman asked her after they caught their breath.

“No,” she said.

“I thought not.”

They slept, or tried to sleep, in the branches of the tree, hungry, wet, and cold but alive. Arya’s shoulder continued throbbing and she worried she may have ripped the stitches. There was no way for her to tell in the dark though so she pushed the fear to the back of her mind and slept as best she could. At least she was used to sleeping in such conditions. Her companion on the other hand seemed more accustomed to having a pallet and a roof over his head, Arya heard him shifting about for hours on end.

When she slept she dreamed of wolves. She dreamt she was big and strong, cutting through the river that could not sweep her aside like it did men. The taste of dead flesh was strong in her mouth though she was gentle as she could be. She left the corpse on the rocks at the river’s edge rather than guard it from the man-pack.

Arya woke to the pattering of rain on the leaves, a root dug into her leg and her wrapped shoulder ached fiercely. She and the guardsman found acorns to break their fast on as they stumbled towards the roar of the river. “Here, m’lord” the guardsman said when they reached the banks, taking her by her wounded shoulder, “If we follow the river north we’ll reach the Twins in a few hours.”

“No!” Arya shrieked, wrenching her hurting shoulder from the man’s grip.

“But m’lord surely your family will be wanting to see you? Surely you’ll be wanting to go home.”

Arya shook her head “That isn’t my home. I don’t have a home anymore.”

The man frowned at her, “You may not like what your grandfather and uncles have done but they are your family and the woods are no place for a lordling.”

“I am no Frey! I am Arya Stark of Winterfell and the only thing I want with Freys is to see them dead!” Arya knew she had spoken wrong the moment the words left her mouth. She was only a little girl and the guardsman was a man; a big one with a sword and armor. He could easily kill her or drag her back to the Twins to marry Elmar. She took a step back, trying to think if it would be easier to jump into the river. The river flowed faster than she could ever run. How could she have been so stupid?

The man did not try to kill her, instead he dropped to his knees before her. “My lady – Princess – er, _Your Grace_ forgive me I did not recognize you.”

“What?”

“I am no Frey man either. I am Lucas second son of House Blackwood.”

“You’re Lucas Blackwood?” She had met few of Robb’s men so it could be true. She bit her lip and studied the man. He was tall and thin with dark hair, pale skin, and eyes that she thought might be black. “How can I know you’re telling the truth?”

He shrugged, “You’ll have to take my word for it I suppose, I don’t have a seal or anything on me. Just as I will have to trust that you really are Arya Stark.” They were both quiet for a minute, thinking hard and fast. “If I’m not returning you to the Twins, then where will we go my lady?” he asked her.

Arya bit her lip and stared down at the water, “Could you take me to the Wall?”

“The Wall? I think not my lady. There are enemies all along the way; the Ironborn have Moat Cailin and we cannot cross the Neck. Riverrun is closer but I think it will be under siege soon. You have an aunt in the Eyrie, they say it’s impregnable.”

“No.” Arya shot that down quick, she did not want some aunt she had never met.

Lucas nodded and thought for a moment more before making his final suggestion, “Raventree Hall is not so far and House Blackwood will be loyal to you. We could go there.”

Arya did not know much about House Blackwood but her great grandmother had been one. That made Lucas a distant sort of family. “I suppose,” she said in assent and followed as Lucas began to pick his way south along the river.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm not making a schedule or promising to get the next chapter done soon because I'm getting to the end of the semester which translates to a lot of exams and big, important papers coming due so I'll get this fic finished sometime but it won't be soon and it certainly won't be before the show ends. Good thing I'm not basing this fic on the show at all.


End file.
